Fall of the First
by Heaven's Eagle
Summary: "Pitch Black... Such a sad name." But there is much about Pitch that the Guardians don't know.


**This is a oneshot idea that my brain inconsiderately spawned on me, and now I love Pitch. Deal with it.**

**WARNING: Pitch Feels. Lots and lots of Pitch Feels.**

* * *

The Man in the Moon does nothing without reason, and he creates nothing to harm the Believers. He created me to protect them, just as he called each of the Guardians to protect them, just as he called every Folklore. But sometimes, things go wrong; sometimes, perfection is corrupted. The Guardians you know will likely be Guardians forever – they guard each other as well the Believers.

I didn't have that. I had only myself, and the distant voice of the Moon. I was created to protect the Believers from fear. But in the end, I _became_ Fear.

(…)

I was born in the light. The forest burned around me, and the Moon glowed high above, brilliant in its scalding light. There was no one nearby, nothing left in the great inferno but the flames and the monstrous sound they made as they consumed the dying trees. I didn't know why I was there, exactly, not yet. But the natural hell around me left me untouched, the fire dancing around my body but not daring to hurt me.

_Your name is Scorch._

That was the voice. Distant and weary, as if it had aged under the weight of the entire universe. It came into my mind like a silver thread, puncturing through the pyre that dwelt there. Looking up, I stared straight into the face of the Moon, hot and white and bursting its sky-bound constraints. And just there, just on the edge of my vision, the Moon stared back.

_You have been born in fire and so shall you live in fire, driving back the dark and the night and all its terrors. You are my Guardian._

The Moon never said anything else to me, not for a hundred years. I stood amidst that conflagration in the trees until it went out, and it was only then that I realised I too was wreathed in flames. The red and orange blaze licked at my skin, concealing my thin form and nipping at my surroundings.

I didn't want to set fire to anything that might indeed be left, so I lifted my hands and harnessed the fire, taming it to my will. Then, in the distance, I saw smoke in the sky, smoke that was pale and white and not of the choking forest fire. The Moon was gone, and there was no voice in my head; but surely, _surely_ domestic smoke meant that there were people there. People I could talk to, people who could help me. If I was to carry out the task the Moon set to me, I would need to know where I was.

When I arrived, the adults didn't see me. They couldn't hear my words nor see my face, their bodies passing through mine as if I were the smoke that had attracted me. But their children… their children stopped where they played and stared at me in awe, delight brightening their faces and reflecting the dazzling light of the flames that clothed me.

My first taste of fear was when a child, a young girl swathed in rabbit furs and no older than five, ran straight at me, shrilling the word, "Scorch!" Only after she'd finished her hurtling approach and swung her arms around my legs, only after I'd felt the icy grip of panic and ordered the fire not to harm her, only after I saw she was safe did I remember that Scorch was my name. "You came to save us," she whispered, nestling her innocent face in the fire that did not burn her, and smiled.

The panic faded, and the warmth of fire took its place, spreading through my body from my heart like liquid molasses. "Yes, child," I replied, kneeling to her height and stroking her hair gently. The red flames that spun tightly around my fingers did her no harm – she seemed to shimmer in their radiance. "I will protect you from the dark and the night and all its terrors."

Though I only repeated what the Moon had decreed, the words tasted perfect when I said them, and I felt myself smile as she smiled at me. My name was Scorch, and it was my job – my creed and my honour – to protect the Believers from all that they could fear.

Other children began to gather around me, all eager to greet me and touch the flames that I wore, to meet my glowing white eyes. I allowed them all, as I sat on the ground, to scramble around and squawk over who got to do what, and I felt it happen. All the fear that had been nestled inside their hearts, fear from the noises in the dark and the forest that had burned and taken people with it. I could feel that fear, sense their nervousness, but as they squabbled over me and became enchanted with the flickering pictures I made with the flames, it began to fade.

I could almost see it, like inky mist that poured from their bodies and was devoured by my fire, to be gone forevermore.

Eventually, I stood up. "I must go, now, children," I said softly, smiling when they all exhibited disappointment. "I'll be back, don't you fear," I reassured them, reaching out to ruffle the hair on every head one last time. "But there are other children in other places who want to see me too." It seemed that though this placated them somewhat, the little Believers still didn't want me to go.

So, as I stood back from them and waved, I called on the fire to do my bidding once more. I didn't know if I was meant to do this, but if I could I would, and all the more to see their joy. The flames leaped higher around me, completely obscuring my form, and from within I guided them into a shape that was familiar to me, that I'd seen wandering around the edges of the village.

The yellow and orange became an enormous rearing horse, and then it imploded around me, and I was gone. Snatches of final sound followed me through the hole my flames had burned, little squeals of glee and coos of awe and a final, "_Bye, Scorch!_"

And then, suddenly, there I was. I stood outside another village, nestled at the base of a mountain, with fires burning even now in high noon, and wetness sloshed around my feet. Looking down, it soon became apparent that I was standing in snow, and that the fire I was very quickly becoming accustomed to had melted it into warm slush.

This time, it happened before I even moved. A single shree rose above the sound of the village, and then the swarm came to greet me – little feet turning the snow aside as the Believers saw me and raced towards me. "Scorch!" they cried, their eyes dazzling reflections of my fire.

I treated them as I'd treated the other children, smiling and laughing and showing them what fire could to when it was friendly. I let them play with animals I formed, all the while keeping a tight mental control to ensure they weren't burned. And soon enough, I stood and left them too, disappearing in a blaze the shape of an eagle.

When night came, and all the Believers went to sleep, I suddenly found myself overcome with the sights and sounds of bedtime. I was alone, then, standing on the top of a mountain, but I could see it all. At first, it hurt me, all that noise and all those sights, those smells that weren't mine. The pain forced me to the ground, and with it came the sense of fear. It was my first encounter with pain, my second meeting with fear. I knew them only because I had known them in the Believers I protected.

But after a while, I adjusted to it, all the things that were not my own. In time, I came to realise that I was seeing through the eyes of every fire, hearing through the ears of every flame. In that way, I could protect those who I was ever so far away from; I could protect every Believer even from the other side of the world.

And every time a child went to sleep, I was treated to the sound of that innocent voice, turned towards the flame in their room, whether it be candle or hearth.

_Thank-you, Scorch._

For a hundred years, I wandered, using the fire to teleport from village to village, even as they grew into towns and cities. I kept warm the children during the day, fed them tales and truths. And through every fire lit, I kept watch on those who slept, comforting the Believers whenever they had cause to fear, wiping it clean, keeping them safe. All Believers learned to trust fire, and some of them even took up taming it to themselves.

I was most proud of those ones. Loathe to admit it though I am, the firedancers were my favourite to visit, the ones I truly _played_ with. In a way, they were almost like _my_ children.

And for a hundred years I tamed the fire and drove away fear. For a hundred years, I protected every child, every Believer from the bite of terror and instead I felt it in their place, trusting the fire that never forsook me to keep _me_ safe. I trusted the fire that the Moon had given me and I trusted the Moon and his decree. For a hundred years, I was Scorch, the First Guardian, and the first Guardian to Fall.

Fear is a formidable foe. In all that time, I had been surrounded by it, drowned by it, forever alight in the ocean of darkness and dread. I had thought I was safe. After all, a Guardian cannot be overcome by that he guards, no?

But all that time, I was wrong. In the end, I was betrayed.

It happened one night, when I had decided to rest on the roof of a firedancer. Often, I went years without real sleep, though it was something I was accustomed to by then. Occasionally, though, it was nice to simply close my eyes and dream for a while. My flames were truly tame by then, never lit anything I didn't expressly tell them to.

But that night, everything changed. I don't even remember, anymore, what it was that I dreamed. I don't recall what horror the force of fear put into my head, but I do know that it was the first nightmare I ever had. The first nightmare that I had ever felt.

The Believers didn't have nightmares, not with my flames and my name in reach.

When I awoke, howling, the roof of the little house was aflame, spewing foul black smoke into the air. There were screams from inside. Like the acrid smoke that burned my nostrils, I could smell the searing panic that filled the house, burning my soul.

I flew into that house, trying to take the hand of the father firedancer and lead him to safety, but he was grown now, and had no need of me. My hand passed through his, with a swirl of pale blue mist. Instead, I turned to the child he held tightly to himself, and smiled as warmly as I could. The fear was suffocating, stilling my ability to breathe or think. But I knew the child could see me, I knew he would listen. His eyes lit up as my face became visible in the fire and he reached towards me, coughing my name.

I led them out, those two, dragging the father by the son's hand. They lay on the ground as I turned and commanded the fire to die, voice ringing with the authority the Moon had bestowed upon me. It obeyed, and left a skeleton in its wake, blackened beams and scorched tiles all that remained.

_I did this. This house was __**scorched**__. I nearly killed them._

The father sat and held his son, oblivious to all but the cinders that remained in the wreckage. His fear was still overpowering. He was not a Believer, he could not see me. There was nothing I could do for him. The logic in my brain was undeniable, and all I wanted to do was flee; leave the scene of my unintended crime and the crushing terror behind.

But the child.

The boy, barely old enough to speak, reached out towards me from his father's embrace, and I hesitantly gave him my hand, mentally screaming at my fire. If it had burned him, I would have never forgiven myself. It didn't, and he took my hand and squeezed. That look of worry was in his eyes, the expression that only young children can ever bear. He knew something was wrong, he could just tell, as all young Believers can, but I honestly hadn't realised it at the time.

I smiled at him as best I could and then stepped back, unwilling to risk any further damage. The father's fear was going to kill me if I didn't get out of there soon. Sometimes, you just have to run away, and the fright of an adult is different to that of a child. It's more solid, more stifling, far beyond my power.

The flames that consumed my form did not shape into anything that day, only a pyre that moved at my beck. When I reappeared in the centre of a volcano, the ledge barely above the magma level and ever so deliciously warm, I expected the relief that always came when I was alone there.

Instead, the fear closed in tighter, thickening around me until I collapsed. Curled on the ground, I struggled to breathe and wondered _why_. Even now, I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, but eventually, the realisation had to come. I was not being chased by the fear of others. It was not a terror I could fight, not ease away with dancing fire and sweet, warm words. I was bound in the chains of my _own_ fear.

…

It was the anger, I think, that did it. The rage born of fear and confusion, and anger I was well familiar with but had never experienced before. I shot through the roof of the volcano, fire pulsing with my heartbeat, and shouted at the Moon. For hours I shouted, screaming and pleading and crying aloud. Not in one hundred years had I acted like this; not in my own living memory have I cried save for that night.

The Moon was silent, as it had been ever silent since my birth. I got no answers as to why my fire was suddenly useless against the fear, as to why _I_ was falling to prey to that which I was supposed to guard against. Not a whisper, not a peep.

I can only assume that even the Moon didn't know why.

When I next awoke, it was in a thrashing fit of incoherent shouts, a fit that almost sent me tumbling over the edge of my volcano outcrop. My eyes opened to the sight of bubbling magma, not three metres below, and the fear shot through me again, like liquid ice.

For a while, I simply lay there and cowered, afraid. I understood, now, why I had been born, why I was so needed. Fear was crippling, it deranged you, made you act badly. It was the parent of all negative emotion, and all negative emotion leads to negative action. I understood that. I knew I was needed, that I had to continue protecting the Believers.

But I dared not leave that place. I had risked too much already, I saw then. It was I who had caused the devastation in that firedancer's life, _I_ who had set his home to ruins. If I could lose control so easily, then it wasn't safe for me to leave.

I didn't know, then, that _that_ was also the fear talking. It had gotten its claws into me, after all those long years, and it wasn't letting go.

So, I decided to stay there, to watch over through the flames, to protect from afar.

And for an entire ten years, I succeeded. But the fear never left me, the nightmares always came.

Only after all that time did the Moon feel he had to talk to me. I awoke, that night, cold and shivering, my flames no protection anymore. They had dulled to pale blue, weak over my skin. Believers there still were, but I had lost more than half of them during my seclusion. I was too afraid to show myself, to risk losing control of my weak fire, and so they had ceased to see me in the flames that shielded them from fear.

My power was waning, my name crumbling into dust and myth and legend.

_Scorch,_ came the beckon, and though I could no longer fly, I wrapped myself in icy blue fire and teleported to the rim of the volcano to listen.

"Yes, Moon? Will you finally answer me now?‼" I demanded; the fear coiled in my belly, birthed foul anger in my chest. Such was the power of the foe the Moon had pitted me against. Such was my own weakness.

_Scorch… I set for you one task. To protect from the night, and all its many terrors._

The weight of the Moon's disappointment sent me to my knees. I'd spent so long doing just that, and he had never breathed a word to me. Now, after all this time, when _I_ was the one who needed protecting, he blamed only me. It was the pain, this time, that gave rise to fury; the wrath of the indignant is more potent than that of the afraid only in that it requires vengeance.

"I have been!" I replied, howling my words at the Moon like the wolves of the wild. "I've sent fire to ward against darkness for more than a hundred years! Where _were_ you?‼"

Never had I felt more betrayed. The Moon had created me, given me the power to protect everyone except myself. How could I protect myself when my fire was weakened, when I was so cold? I was only Scorch. I was only one.

_You are weak and afraid. You cannot fulfil your task – you refuse to. You have failed me._

I was on my feet then. The weak blue fire exploded into life around me, crackling as it hadn't for ages past, but it wasn't the warm reds and yellows it had been for all those happy Believers. No, it burned black as ink around my body, launching me into the sky as the utter opposite of the glowing silver Moon. If I could have burned him, I would have.

"_What_?‼ I have tried to protect them! I've tried! But I can't risk hurting them, and if I walk among them again, that's all that will happen! I lost control of my fire ten years ago, when that house burned to the ground! How can I trust it not to repeat the act?‼" All faith in the fire he'd given me was gone. It was not mine anymore. The flames burned as they would, scorching everything around them.

I began to pant, pain flickering across my skin under the black fire. It was turning even on me.

_Scorch… I am truly sorry. But your power was that of faith. The Believers had faith in your flames to protect them, as did you. You lost that faith the moment it was tested. And now you cannot be allowed to wield that power any longer. It will destroy them all._

_And it will destroy you._

The world went black. The Moon went out. The fire that I had come to know and reside with for over a century died for the first time since my birth and I plummeted to the earth in a heap of stone and snow and pain. The rage sputtered out in my shock and all I was left with was a yawning abyss of terror and pain and betrayal.

The Moon had created me, and then he had abandoned me, and now he had left me for ruin.

Only the fear was left. Only the terror remained. I had not even a thin shield now; all the sacred fire had forsaken me, and my purpose with it. Fear is a terrible thing. Without a shield, you cannot defeat it. There is no armour against the dark but light, and the Moon had taken all my light with him. Alone and in the shadows of fear, I could do nothing. It would devour me, eat my flesh and my mind and my soul until there was nothing left, until that which lives forever was dead.

Alone, and in the ebony snow, I would have died if I'd fought the fear with neither weapons nor armour.

And so, I gave into it. I listened to the whispers it placed in my head, I became afraid and full of darkness. After all this time, I remember so clearly the moment I became one with fear. It was breathe terror or die, and the terror itself made me scared to die.

When I rose from the side of the volcano, dripping snow and fury, I found that the shadows had bound themselves to me, just as the flames once had. In that moment, all who I'd been and all I would become was clear and I relished the freedom of it. If I was fear, if it had consumed me and found me worthy, then I would _truly_ serve it.

Without the flames, I could no longer be Scorch. I could not protect. I was dressed in darkness, I was Pitch Black, and I would be the only Fear left in this world. The Moon had wanted fear banished, and when it had taken me, he had turned his silver face away.

…

…

…

You know the rest of the story. I had only to make my name known in every corner of the globe before the Moon rose his new Guardians. Four of them, this time. Four, so that they could spread their work amongst the world, so that none were so powerful as me should they, too, Fall. Four, so that they could protect each other, also, when the time came.

Wonder, Hope, Dreams, Sweet Memory. And finally, called when my power was nearing the power of the flames, the Fifth: Fun.

It makes a sick sort of sense, I suppose. That Jack Frost, the master of ice and cold, should be my downfall. Without him, the world would be mine and a new age of fear would grip it. But for the Frost to have quelled me. Perhaps, if I had not once been Scorch, the first Guardian, the first Firedancer, ice would not have held such power over me. Perhaps, if the cold did not meet the dark so well…

He, who should have been my partner, instead he was my death. And the fear that gave me all its power, the Fear who I became, the terror that once threatened to kill me… How like the Moon to allow it to be _his_ instrument. Fear, the weapon of Frost.

I can't feel them, you know. The nightmares tearing at my body, rending flesh from bone. My physical form, such as it is, is only an obstacle for them; they simply wish to dine on my fear. I am not afraid anymore, but how can they sense anything else from me? I am not afraid, but I am Fear itself. When the Guardians and the Believers do not fear me, what is left for the precious nightmares _but_ Fear?

_Pitch,_ comes the voice. The voice that has haunted me for five hundred years, the voice who created and betrayed me.

This time, I do not feel anger. I do not feel fear. There is nothing to feel, anymore. Just as I cannot feel the body that is being savaged, I cannot feel my ravaged heart any longer. There is too little left. For five hundred years I have been consumed by my unnatural powers, and 'I' barely exist. I remember the pain of being forsaken by the Moon, who is all but my father, and it means nothing. Not when I am about to die. Not when the nightmares, the nightmares that started it all, have finally come to finish it.

_My dear Pitch… Do you understand why I had to strip you of the fire?_

I do not reply aloud. I'm not sure I have the throat or tongue to do so. Perhaps I have already died, and my body is gone, and the Moon is simply speaking to my soul.

_No. I never understood. You betrayed me. I could not do anything else._

Fear wants one thing; to propagate. Fear is greedy, but it is also powerful. The more people who are afraid, the more powerful it becomes. The more powerful _I_ became.

_You left me to my nightmares. You didn't even try to help me._

Suddenly, I can see it. The Moon's shining face. I can see him staring down at me, with sadness in his eyes, and I wonder why.

_Pitch Black… Such a sad name. You were far happier when you were Scorch._

But I'm not Scorch. I haven't been Scorch for so long it feels like a distant dream, a nightmare that came and vanished with the rising sun. There is nothing left of Scorch, naught but words and wishes and pale blue flames.

_You are wrong._ The voice is quiet, distant as ever, but it rings in my thoughts with all the power of the Believers. Wonder, Hope, Memory, Dreams, Fun, they are all parts of Faith. I was Faith once, but Faith itself is far too powerful. The Moon must be Faith now, as he has been for all my years as Fear. _You have always been Scorch. That is who you were when I made you, and that is who you will always be. Pitch Black… shed that cloak. Become who I created you to be, my son._

There is nothing after that. Nothing but blinding silver and the feel of warmth. It has been so long since I felt warmth. Fear comes with shadow and cold. There is no light, nothing to warm me. But now, I'm warm again, now I can see far beyond what I should, now I can see through the flames that warm the other Guardians. They are not fires of the physical world, they are the fires of their hearts…

And now… _finally_… I understand.

Silver fire consumes me, but I feel no pain. It dances across my skin, whispering hellos in my ear, wondering where I've been. Perhaps, just maybe… Maybe the Moon did not forsake me. Maybe it is only through his light that I've lived in the thrall of Fear for all this time, without crumbling into ash.

Perhaps it is time to become Scorch once more.

_But what will become of me?_ I ask the Moon, as sensation returns to dead flesh and the silver inferno springs to life around me and I take my own weight in the air. _I cannot be a Guardian again. Not with all I know, not with all I've done. Fear cannot touch me now… I know its secrets. But so too do the Guardians._

The Moon is quiet when he replies. Quieter than normal, as if he is whispering in my ear, speaking only for me, his firstborn.

_They do not know __**your**__ secrets. And a family must be whole to be happy. They will never be able to bring true peace until __**you**__ are united with your brothers and sister._

_...  
_

_ I think, my dear Scorch, that it is time they learned the truth of what happened._

(…)

It was warm. Warm and bright. That's what I remember of when I was born. I opened my eyes and found the forest burning around me, a vivid conflagration empty of all but the inferno and the thunderous sound it produced. The trees were dying, but that was ok. I could see them tumble, but the seeds would crack in the heat, and new trees would grow.

It seemed awful, at the time, to see so much destruction from the fires. But the new trees would be there; the fire was not the end. In a way, the massive pyres were a good thing. This forest would burn to the ground, it was true. But the death of this forest would give rise to the birth of the next.

That is what the Moon told me.

* * *

**Just for the record, those end lines are hinting at something huge. Now, I do have an idea for a full fic, should it be wanted... And yes, it runs rather smoothly off the end of this, though it would be posted separately, and not from first-person PoV.**

**If you liked this, tell me. If you hated it... well, also tell me. And if you want to see the whole next arc, definitely tell me. In fact, Review and tell me something, even if it's horrible humour and involves poptarts.  
**

**Bye, my loyal genin!  
**


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